


aster

by sowish



Category: TWICE (Band)
Genre: F/F, also...oops, guess which one this is :), song fics are either happy or sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-14
Updated: 2019-04-14
Packaged: 2020-01-13 04:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18461174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sowish/pseuds/sowish
Summary: Sana has all of these choices, Momo has none.





	aster

**Author's Note:**

> ben platt is incredible and his album, sing to me instead, is amazing and is so so so so so so so so raw and honest and genuine and this fic is derived from one of the songs on it. 
> 
> here's a link to the song https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nmIBRpvn8MM

In the crisp morning, vibrant red aster flowers sit in a vase on the windowsill of an apartment. The warm sunlight casts a glow of yellow on bedsheets. At the foot of the bed, two pairs of legs are tangled together. Nose to nose, small and gentle smiles tugging on lips, and the silent sound of beating hearts meld together. 

 

Sana looks beautiful; her smile bright and lovely as always. Momo has spent many mornings waking up beside her—counting her eyelashes, tracing the point of her nose with the lightest of touches, taking in every part of her and committing her to her memory. Any morning waking up beside Sana is a good morning; just like this one. Momo had woken up to little hairs tickling her face and upon blinking her eyes awake, she found that Sana had taken a few of her own blonde strands of hair and decided to make a brush out of them to trace Momo’s face. Sana’s smile is mischievous, her eyes crinkled into crescents when Momo whines and tucks her face into Sana’s neck. When Sana wraps her arms around her tighter and kisses her head, Momo knows that there is no other place she would rather be.

 

Saturday is date night. All of the other days of week, one or the other would be out working and would then be too wiped to entertain a date out. 

 

(That never stopped them from lying on their living room floor watching movies all cuddled up. And sometimes Sana would cook and Momo would come home after her dance lessons and then they would find their dinners cold because Momo decided that kissing the love of her life was more dire than eating the food on the table. Sana is, of course, not opposed to complying. She reasons that microwaves exist for a reason. While the food hums away, Momo kisses her again and tells Sana she loves her.) 

 

Saturday’s meant nights out, walking with their fingers laced together and their shoulders bumping together. Saturday’s meant kissing Sana underneath streetlights, kissing her at every crosswalk they stop at. Saturday’s meant dinner at fancy restaurants or little hole-in-the-walls. They meant Sana wiping away excess sauce away on Momo’s face because she is too often a messy eater and teasing her by licking the sauce away on her finger instead of using a napkin. Saturday’s were movie nights at theaters and wandering home to the sound of the muted clamour of the city at night. 

 

Saturday’s led to Sunday’s where Momo can wake up beside Sana without the pressure of school or work pushing them to move. On Sunday’s the world stills and waits for them until Monday comes along.

 

And like clockwork, they come home to each other. No matter how sleepy, how terrible the day, always, a kiss goodnight is the silver lining of each day.

 

~

 

Momo doesn’t quite know when things start to change. 

 

Perhaps it is when Momo noticed the emptiness of their kitchen when she dropped her bag and slid her shoes off. Perhaps it is the absence of music fluttering through their home and the stale smell of air conditioning instead of the gentle wafting smell of dinner. It definitely is when Momo finds a note on their dining table to fill in for the space in her arms that Sana would usually reside in.

 

“ _ Out with a friend. Don’t wait up for me, Momoring <3” _

 

For the first time in awhile, there is no goodnight kiss; no Sana whispering “I love you” before her eyes droop to a close.

 

Momo can’t help but to lie awake and watch how the moon sits lonely in the sky.

 

When Saturday comes, Momo wakes up alone to cold sheets. 

 

It isn’t until the afternoon when Sana comes home. Her eyes are bright when she tells Momo about the new friend she was out with. 

 

(Something persistent in Momo tells her that there is something to fear. 

 

Momo chooses to ignore it—simply cannot bear the truth in acknowledging what nags at her.)

 

Saturday’s make it easier for her to distract herself when Sana kisses her cheeks after each crosswalk signals safety to go. Dinners with Sana and her charming smile and her disarming laugh and her wandering fingers tangled with Momo’s is enough. Sana leaning her head on her shoulder and laughing into her neck while the movie plays is enough. Sana being beside her is enough for her to feel loved.

 

Sunday comes and waking up beside Sana is as lovely as ever. Momo could never imagine hurting her. With a heart as precious as Sana’s, Momo could only ever decide on loving her. The whole world could flip upside down, a freaky apocalypse could come, the oceans could dry out, but, Momo figures there is nothing to lose, other than the woman beside her. Momo continues to promise to protect the heart she reveres.

 

Monday comes and Sana comes home to Momo making dinner. She peppers her face in kisses, blows raspberries into the crook of Momo’s neck where her face resides when Momo pulls her into her embrace. The giggling that rings out is a noise that confronts Sana.

 

The vibrating of her phone pulls her away from Momo.

 

She fails to hear how Momo’s giggles die away, how her smile drops when Sana turns away to occupy her phone.

 

Momo tries to reason that it’s nothing when Sana continues to peek at her phone during dinner.

 

Sana kisses her goodnight but Momo fails to feel her day end well.

 

The slight panging of her heart echoes in her chest.

 

The red aster flower petals start to droop.

 

~

 

Waking up beside Sana is equally just as peaceful as it is destructive. In the silence of the morning, Momo could savor how relaxed and gentle Sana looks without the problems of the day weighing her down. Yet, in the silence, her mind falls into warped thoughts—thoughts where Momo wakes up alone, comes home to quiet, Saturday’s where she stays curled up at home with nothing by her side, Sunday’s where the world moves along without her.

 

It scares her how real it feels, how Sana feels like a ghost even though she was right there in her arms.

 

When Sana’s bleary eyes blink awake, Momo feels her heart call for her.

 

Momo doesn’t know if it’s calling for the girl beside her or the girl it’s trying to chase.

 

Sana kisses her and it doesn’t feel the way it should. It doesn’t make Momo feel safe, nor does it reassure her like it used to.

 

Something has changed.

 

Momo’s heart aches at the thought of Sana being reduced into a blurry mess of memories tainting the good. 

 

A lonely red petal rests at the windowsill. The vibrant red starts to shrivel into a dull brown.

 

~

 

Momo stops counting the little betrayals. She stops wondering who Sana is texting during their movie nights in their living room, stops wanting to know if Sana is happy with what she is cooking for dinner, doesn’t want to sleep or wake up beside her because it just reminds her of how lonely her heart feels even though the one she wants the most is right next to her.

 

Saturday comes and Sana invites her friend to their date night.

 

Momo can’t help but to enable the nasty part of her that reduces every little thing into an insensitive betrayal. Momo can’t help but to glare at how Sana loops her arm through the other woman’s. Momo can’t help but to watch how Sana giggles and leans into their shoulders and can’t help but to let her heart fuss in its pain.

 

Momo knows what this looks like. She’s seen it with her own eyes, felt it with her own heart. She has felt Sana’s head leaning into hers when she laughs, how warm her hands are when she interlocks them and stuffs them into her pocket. Momo knows Sana well enough to know that their hearts are long estranged. 

 

Momo would rather be hurt once than to be subjected to this consuming pain burning through her. Momo wishes Sana would just end it all—kill it all off before the infection reached to other places. Memories that Momo wished to keep safe are becoming blurry with the tears that she sheds at night; the arms that hold her are now the ones she wants away from her.

 

Momo wishes she could be strong enough to make the decision, to choose anyone else but Sana. Her stubborn heart clings to the idea it fell in love with. It refuses to let go, to let Momo lose everything.

 

But, much like the dull aster flowers that sit on her windowsill, patience and longevity can only last for so long.

 

The two shuffle into their apartment, get ready for bed in silence. 

 

Sana moves to kiss Momo goodnight but is only met with the expanse of Momo’s back turned away from her.

 

The next morning when Momo wakes, she does not spend the morning counting every wisp of hair, doesn’t treasure how Sana’s nose crinkles. She doesn’t stay in bed to let the world pass by. She needs to move along too. There is nothing worth staying for.

 

With a packed bag ready to go at the door, Momo awaits for Sana’s sleepy eyes to focus. She watches how Sana stretches and grunts at how her back cracks. She allows herself to muse that the little noises Sana makes used to make her smile.

 

Sana turns to her with a smile that quickly drops.

 

At the windowsill where the dead aster flowers and its petals lay shriveled, Momo stood beside it with her eyes solemn and her arms crossed.

 

“Sana, we need to talk.”

**Author's Note:**

> tbh.....i could only Hope to write a fraction of how painful this song is :D 
> 
> anyway!! thank you for reading and i would love feedback!! you can reach me @twinklingsana on twitter if you'd so please ^_^


End file.
